


Something To Look Forward To

by PaperAnn



Series: PaperAnn's Bingo 2018 Works [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Canon Universe, Dean is a Little Shit, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Men of Letters Bunker, Omega Dean Winchester/Alpha Sam Winchester, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 13:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: For the first time in a long time, there isn't an Apocalypse looming. The end of the world isn't upon them. It's pretty damn refreshing when Sam's tasks amount to translating a book for a fellow hunter. He'd been settled in to do exactly that, when the scent hit him like a bus.Sam's left swimming in shock, his nosehadto be paying tricks on him—Dean going into heat means something went wrong. Maybe his meds expired or he got distracted during his 'nesting' phase, because there's no way this was his choice!  ...Until Sam learns thatit was.Apparently, there's no time like the present (nothing to hunt, no people to save) and Dean points out: how long will this peace last?  Plus, the Bunker's the safest place on Earth!With Dean going out on a limb, taking a chance and showing some vulnerability, Sam decided to do the same thing. Even though he's worried about Dean's reaction, he owes it to him. Sam needs to just friggin say it before he loses the nerve.It sure doesn't play out like he expected—it goes so muchbetter. Both alpha and omega can tell their week together is looking like paradise.  The Bunker may be the best thing that happened to them.





	Something To Look Forward To

With a book needing translation in hand, Sam walked through the Bunker towards the War Room.  He was pretty sure (if his first impressions and vague guess-work was correct) this text was exactly what was needed for the ritual.    
  
Well, that, and a full moon which was due in little over a week.    
  
Thank God, he'd scoured high and low on the shelves!  While the library was vast, Sam had thoroughly acquainted himself with it over the years.

He knew exactly what books were archived where, what section of tomes held spell work and which held knowledge.  Hell, Sam knew the library like the back of his hand by now, venturing to say as well as Dean knew John’s journal.  That was why it was so frustrating when he couldn't find this book to begin with—he knew damn well he'd seen it before.  When found, it wasn't remotely where it _should've_ been—but Sam was relentless—now he'd make sure the text would eventually return to it's rightful home.  
  
The SOS call had come in from another hunter who needed the spell work to solve a problem he'd gotten into—apparently was an 'incident' with some kind of fae.  The Men of Letters had extensive research about the other realm, plus the magic needed to counteract their natural power.  The hunter had called the right place.  Faes and fairies could be a bitch of a problem.  It felt fantastic, being able to give him a status update.  Even if Sam was in the beginning stages of helping out.  
  
At least he could _start_.  
  
Upon finding the book, the half-assed way it was crooked and wedged between the others, Sam chalked it up to Dean's lazy cataloging skills.  He could visualize it _perfectly_ —his brother picking the hardcover up, glaring at it in disdain because it wasn't what he wanted, and then jamming it back.  And that's where it stayed until Sam found it today.  Yeah, Sam would place cash on that bet.

As the bulky text thumped down next to his laptop, ready for some old fashioned Google Translate, he wondered where Dean was.

The second Sam wondered was the moment something sweet hit his nose.

Sam froze in place, hands hovering over the keyboard.  Every bone, every muscle in him was stark-still, _except_ his nose.  His nostrils flared—sniffing the air.  That…no, it couldn’t be…

Slowly, inch by inch, Sam brought his hands down and folded them tightly before he turned in the direction of the scent.  It was beginning to creep into the room more strongly, heavier, making Sam question his sanity: there was no way this was happening.  No way, he could be smelling what he _thought_ he was—

Dean refused—he outright refused—to ever let his body succumb to a heat.

When he was old enough, Dean went as far as demanding surgery to get his omega parts ‘hacked up.’  As fate would have it, he wasn’t a good candidate.  God, Sam remembered how friggin wrecked Dean had been at the news.  He'd regressed into his own world, trying to come up with a solution, and eventually turned to bribing the doctors.    
  
It didn't work.  Even the shadiest of places told him it wasn’t a matter of money: it was his body.  Every single doctor, surgeon, hell, _chiropractor_ , Dean went crawling (begging to) turned him away.

Ever since, Dean loaded himself up with suppressants.  Whatever he could find, whenever he could find them—he always carried a boatload of back-up.  It was a good thing, too, he frequently had to dig into that reserve.   
  
They'd gotten themselves into many horrible situations over the years, found themselves backed into countless corners.  As if starting the Apocalypse wasn't bad _enough_ , that particular nightmare wasn't what took the cake...  
  
Dean had gotten fucked over beyond belief when the Leviathans wore their faces on a killing spree.  When 'Sam and Dean Winchester' shot to the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted List— _that_ had been the worst ordeal he (and Sam by association) had faced.  Both of them were a household name, a discussion topic, _everyone_ knew their mugs.  For a while there, the only game plan they had was to wait it out, lay low.  Hiding wasn't their style, but lives were on the line, and Dean burned through his back-up supply in a flash.  
  
It had been a long time since Sam had seen his brother that terrified, but he promised Dean he'd be all right, they had to put their heads together.  Sam was not only determined—but stubborn.  He knew nothing in this world was too big to keep them down or beat them, so long as they had each other.  No matter what, they'd win in the end if they were together—they'd win every fight or (in this case) solve every puzzle.     
  
They begged, bartered, stole—paying off shifty folks to head into the pharmacy for Dean's meds as they waited outside.  It felt like they were fucking teenagers getting adults to buy them liquor.  Most importantly: they shelled out the cash to make sure those they met looked the other way.  Suppressants weren't something Dean 'wanted,' to the omega: it was a matter of life and death.

Dean _always_ made it a matter of life and death.

Even though there weren’t any current, massive threats bearing down on them, demanding their full attention...Sam couldn’t imagine this was Dean’s choice.  Something must have went wrong…

Maybe his suppressants were old?  Expired?  Maybe Dean, while in the middle of his bunker-nesting-phase, had forgotten to take them as religiously as he had before?  It didn’t matter, Sam…needed to check on him.

Make sure Dean didn’t have a gun to his head, or something.

Goddammit, when Sam began to trek down the hallway, his stupid alpha instincts and his senses reacted violently—his cock instantly hardening while he fought the urge run, the overwhelming impulse to  _chase_.

It unnerved Sam to the point he actually forced himself to stop in his tracks, showing he was stronger than his biology.  To prove he was better than the animal inside him.  But when he did the breath full of Dean in his lungs—a hungry moan slipped.

Sam slapped a hand over his mouth in shock, that wasn't supposed to happen!    
  
Fuck, Sam was better than this and he couldn't help Dean from the hallway, he needed to get to his omega no matter what was happening to him.  Dean always took precedence.  He made a couple jerky false-starts, before ( _finally_ ) propelling himself forward to finish his short journey.

The scent from outside of the room was like an invitation, seeping out, beckoning him from underneath the door.  The scent of Dean's incoming heat was so concentrated and addicting, Sam lingered long enough to bask in the glorious scent while he could.  He swallowed away the dryness and knocked.  Even though what he really wanted was to shove his way in, tackle his brother to the bed, and have his way with him over and over...

After rapping his knuckles, the, “Dean, what’s going on?” sounded more choked than casual.    
  
Nothing was casual like he'd prayed it would be, _fuck_ , he was already in over his head!  Sam tried to center himself, gather his baring, because _he had to_ if he was going to walk through that damn door—

There was no response…

He didn’t like it, not one bit, Sam needed some sign of life more than Dean's scent alone.

He knocked again, calling louder this time, “Dean, hey!  Let me in.  We can figure out what happened toget—”

Sam tripped and fell headfirst into the room.  The door where he'd been balancing all his weight had _vanished_ underneath him, sending him scrambling.  Sam moved quickly to catch himself, awkwardly dancing on the balls of his feet.  You know—instead of falling on his friggin face.  Shit, he almost had a heart attack, he was on a hair-trigger!  When he finally felt grounded, stabilized, Sam glanced up...and he was awed by something utterly _spectacular_.

Dean was flushed, his white t-shirt was soaked with sweat and a hard-on was tenting his boxers.  He'd never say the words aloud (he'd get punched) but Dean looked so fucking cute, like a pissed off little animal Sam felt sympathy for.  And wanted to bone.  So there was that, too.

After the build-up and seeing him in person, after taking in the gorgeous sight, his eyes followed Dean—his first move was slamming the door shut behind them.  And when he turned…Sam was speechless from the sight.    
  
His boxers were clinging to him the same way the shirt was—but instead of sweat acting as the glue, Dean had soaked them with _slick_.  The fabric was like a second skin, dripping wet showing off the perfect curve of his beautiful ass.   _Fuck_ , Sam wanted to taste him—

Dean frowned as he collapsed to his bed, analyzing Sam.  “Are you being a knothead?  I can’t deal with you—”

“No!   _God_ , no.  I-I wanted to help.  To help you figure out what was going on and why you're in heat.  Unless you already know, then you can hopefully share that with me, I'd like to know...”  Sam crossed hands, trying to cover his crotch.  “I gotta admit, I'm a little distracted.  With you, uh.  Like this.  You…look and scent _amazing_.”

“Yeah?”  Dean snorted and raised an interested eyebrow, “I friggin bet.”  He cast his gaze over Sam, scanning every inch of him with scrutiny, and his scent was thoroughly amused.  All the while, Dean took pleasure in Sam anxiously shifting between feet, clearly out of his depth.  He admitted, “You’re doing way better than I thought you would… _Damn_ , Sammy.  Your self-control is nuts.”

When Dean wolf-whistled, the alpha paused with a deep-set glower, because… _waitafuckingminute_ —

“Did you…” Sam couldn’t possibly be right, given the past, Dean's history, _everything_ he knew about the omega.  Still, he had to risk it, say the words: that was the only way he’d figure out the truth.  “Did you stop taking your suppressants on _purpose_?” he gaped, jaw dropped—Dean’s wicked grin said it all.  “No way…how— _why_ —”

“The Bunker’s the safest place on Earth, right?” Dean explained and peeled off his t-shirt, groaning in relief once it was gone.  The cold air against his fevered skin must have been an instant relief, his blood running hot.  “We don’t have an active case, no one's dying, no one needs saving, so…why _not_?”

“Because you hate the idea.  You'd kill anyone who made a suggestion.  You're disgusted from even the _concept_ of b-being in heat, it makes you cringe, you loathe—”  When Sam began to babble, Dean shot up from the bed and closed in on him, shutting him up.

“Yeah.  I did.  Still kind of do.  But things have changed in a big way.  Don't you feel it?”  He cuffed a finger under Sam’s chin, forcing his attention.  “Us.  Ever since we happened.  It’s been _years_.  Years and years.  I’ve thought about it, imagined how to make it work one day, if and when it would be possible.  This _isn't_ a spur-of-the-moment thing.  Never imagined I’d go through with it, get all those ducks in a row, since we're constantly saving the world…but _this_ week is _the_ week…”

As if Sam couldn’t be more shell-shocked, he had to stop the gasp when he asked, “This was for me?”

“For us,” Dean emphasized, and seized Sam’s hand.  He firmly grasped Sam's wrist, manipulated wrapping it around his side and further still—until it was plunging down the back of his boxers.  Sam’s knees almost buckled, his long fingers gliding through fresh slick, and Dean said, “I’m just getting started, Sammy.  Not even in full heat yet.  Before we fall down the rabbit hole, you gotta tell me now: are _you_ okay with this?  I need you to be honest.”

Dean began walking backwards, Sam practically attached to him, unable to stop fondling his ass, pushing his fingers past the omega's rim.  “I am _so_  okay with this.  I want this, I want  _you_ , but—”

It was so easy to haul Sam down, Dean's hold was firm and steady on the alpha's waist, and they tumbled back to the bed.  He eagerly watched Sam's reaction with hungry eyes.  “But—what?  Tell me what you're thinking, no secrets, okay?   _Fuck_ , that feels good,” Dean mewled and rolled his hips.  He couldn't get enough—seeking Sam's fingers plunging in and out of his gushing hole.  Dean _needed_ any touch, any and all friction he could coax from the alpha.

Sam was captivated, but he had to remember—he was the one (ironically) with a concern.  Even though everything was coming up roses and Dean’s inner omega was glowing radiantly...

It physically pained Sam to retreat, but he _had to_ , leaving Dean to huff in annoyance.  To make it worthwhile, Sam undressed them, keeping at a small distance while he explained, “You’re right.  It’s been years and years, a goddamn decade.  God, I want this so bad, I’m ecstatic you’re giving it to me, don’t get me wrong—but do you know what _I’ve_  been fighting with?  For all these years and years?”

Dean sat up and scowled, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

He noted right off, “Well, I'm fucked, there go the puppy eyes.  Should I get ready for a letdown and a week with my hand?”  Dean pointed at Sam and decided, “If you’re ditching me, the least you can do is make a run, get me a dildo or three—”

“Hell no—I’m not leaving you!  This is a dream come true!  I never thought I'd get this, I never let myself even believe it was possible.”  Sam was glowing and scooted closer, yet he still hadn’t made contact.  “Every time we’re together means more to me than you know, and every time…I’ve had to fight my damn instincts like a knothead...” it was a rueful confession, but the blank expression on Dean's face said he wasn’t getting it.    
  
“I’m constantly fighting the impulse to mate you.”  Sam couldn't be more direct than that.

Finally, Dean’s eyes lit up in understanding.  And just like that—the remaining vivid green nearly dissipated down into a _sliver_ —Dean's pupils (and scent) darkened in arousal.  “I get it.  But,  _damn_ , every time?  Wanting me as _your omega—_ only yours?  Thinking about how I'd look wearing your mark?  Each fuck, each quickie, and each time we make love?”    
He climbed closer to Sam, boldly pulling the single, worst-fucking-thing he could've—making Sam's jaw dropping open.    
  
Dean bared his neck.    
  
Then proceeded to comment, casual as could be, “I’d look damn good wearing your claim, huh, alpha?”

“Dean!” Sam was flabbergasted, shook up, and desperately trying to get it through Dean's thick skull—this wasn't a game!  “I’m serious, _please_ —don’t joke about this!  Mating links you on that level forever.  You shouldn't be forced to ‘belong’ to anyone.  …Even if it’s me.  You’re too independent, you don't need an alpha to be complete.  You wanted my honesty—I wanna spend this heat with you more than words, and I plan to—but _honestly_...I’m terrified of getting caught up.  That I'll think with my dick instead of my brain and—”

“Then think with your dick,” Dean’s voice was hushed and right next to his ear.  He’d moved with grace, straddling Sam’s lap, turning the alpha into bumbling fool.  Dean hummed happily as he swung his pelvis, Sam's cock slipped and slide back and forth between Dean’s soaked cheeks.  “You ever wonder what _I_  want, little brother?”

While Dean was controlling this situation, Sam's gumption was bar-none.  Needing to regain some of his footing again, Sam sunk into the bed and angled his hip  _just so_ for the ideal set-up.  Lifting Dean was easy, and plunging into his body was heavenly.    
  
_Heavenly_ —both were gasping with their bodies flush, Sam buried all the way inside Dean's clenching, tight heat.  Right where they belonged.  It took time to embrace the burst of both sensation and scent—embrace how intense their joining, Dean's heat, and the position was, and soon—Sam began raising Dean up.  The omega's scent was rich with delight, hungrily watching Sam's muscles flexing and extending, the sweat dripping down his shoulders and arms.  Sam would lift him, the harshness of gravity fucked Dean back down, completely swallowing his cock again.

“Sammy, _yes_!”  Scratch that, Dean wasn't simply delighted, he was _thrilled_.    
  
As soon as Dean gathered himself, he quickly shifted to take away half the work.  He bucked and ground down, riding Sam's dick—which the alpha imagined had been the plan to begin with.  No matter the result, he was happy being with Dean however he got him.  Dean's momentum was escalating, falling under the spell of their explosive chemistry and his omega biology.  
  
Fuck, when Dean licked his lips and traced his fingertips down Sam's neck, a jolt of pleasure shot straight to his knot—dammit, it was _already_ bumping against Dean's rim!  When Sam thought about it, foreplay (for himself) had begun a long time ago—when he scented Dean's heat.  That was the moment his cock pulsed to life, and he'd been struggling, desperate and needy, ever since.  It was logical that the moment he got what he wanted, his body needed to hold onto it.    
  
In the middle of their frenzied pace, Dean was focused on something else entirely.  His gaze flitted back and forth between Sam's eyes and throat, while plummeting down on his cock.  There was a raw intensity to his rocking and writhing, as he fucked Sam deeper inside his ass.  “W-what if I’ve been waiting?”

"Waiting for what?” Sam growled, his alpha had long since clawed past the surface—now demanding they cum together.  His wild instincts had broken free from their chains, from any previous hesitations—that's what Dean did to him.   _Dean_ always got under Sam's skin, riled him up, drove him insane with lust and love like this.  
  
Still; Sam knew to stay away from Dean’s neck, even when he smelled sweeter than _anything_  to have hit Sam's nose before.    
  
He couldn't think about Dean's words right now, they were loaded—Sam drove up into Dean with the brutal pace.  His straight-up assault, his mission as a good alpha, was to quell Dean's heat—fanatically watching Dean's jaw drop and his movements turn shaky—as his knot began to swell.

The omega’s words were jumbled, grabbing anything he could reach to stay upright.  He clutched Sam’s shoulder, wrapped an arm around his back and shouted out shamelessly loud as he came.  Sam’s name rolled off his tongue, combined with all the dirty words and filthy pleas, easily made him blow another load in Dean.    
  
God, he constantly pushed boundaries, in life and especially in the bedroom.  The omega was eager and begging to be stretched to his limits—Dean knew _exactly_ how to milk Sam dry, he always knew what cards to play.  It never hurt that Dean had the alpha wrapped around his little finger.  He was also a master of leading Sam to heady and seemingly _unending_ euphoria and keeping him there.  Time and time again, Sam would get lost in his omega, wholly.

The afterglow lingered on, and Sam knew they'd crash.  No translations were getting done tonight.    
  
Before they passed out, he reached over on Dean's nightstand to clean up the cum and sweat on both their bodies—to where he always kept wet wipes handy.  Sam happily realized the omega’s temperature had gone down.  That he was sated for now.  And that this heat was going to be good thing—a fucking great thing—Sam could and would control himself.

Until Dean piped up, voice lazy and slightly hoarse, “Was trying to tell you…maybe _I want it_.  To wear your mark.  Let everyone know that this omega is taken.  Maybe I wanna know, too.  And every time I see it, I’ll think of you.”

“You can’t be serious…” Sam’s words were a disbelieving whisper, “You’d really let me?”

“I wondered about this a lot, I wondered _why_ you never brought mating up.  If I’d known it was because you were shy?  We could’a crossed that bridge so long ago.  I really thought you didn’t want to.”  There was something timid in Dean’s tone, “I thought with how long we've been together, how much we've been through, fuck, everything we've done for each other—it was weird we _weren't_ mated.  Like, maybe you were ashamed of me.  Or you didn’t want people assuming, or…maybe if they _did_  assume: you didn’t want ’em getting it right.  Knowing that I _am_ your omega—”

“That’s not it!” Sam was filled with conviction and he grabbed Dean’s face, kissing him hard, using his lips and tongue to correct him.  Making sure it _sunk in_.  A hushed, “I never thought you’d want to be mated.  To _anyone_ ,” was the alpha’s reason, just as he’d explained before, “If you do?  Holy shit, let me have you.  And I want to wear your mark the second after I've made you mine.”

“ _Fuck—_ ” Dean was panting, from both the kiss and the proposition—it was brave and radical (different sides saw it as either liberating or disrespectful) for an omega to leave their claim on an alpha, but he should have seen it coming a mile away with Sam.  “Yeah—let’s do it.  Last bit of rationality is about evaporate from my head.  Soon we’ll _both_ be thinking with our dicks.  And it'll be the best week ever.”

Sam grinned wildly when he asked, “No take backs?”

“No take backs,” Dean confirmed and drew out the words, “You and your neck?  All mine for the taking, Sammy.”

“Always—”  It was a heavy word, adding to Dean’s heavy gesture.

Sam kept getting hit with surprise after surprise, he felt like it was Christmas morning.  Except these gifts were so much better than anything you could wrap in a box.  Dean was taking chances, stepping out of his safe-zone and making risky moves— _for Sam_.  
  
Dean was not simply 'allowing' but enthusiastically  _embracing_  something Sam had personally feared for so long, yet wanted more than anything.  The change surrounding the fear of 'accidental' had turned around, to an out-of-control anticipation over 'deliberate' and 'so fucking soon,' it was making Sam's heart burst with love.  Wow.  Mating. 

Yeah, Dean was absolutely right.  This week was going to be fantastic, Sam was vibrating out of his skin and went back to kissing his future mate to _thoroughly_ show his thanks.

Dean was just as receptive to welcome it.  At first.    
  
As usual, things got heated— _fast_ —he ended up tsk'ing Sam and shaking his head fondly.  “We need to pace ourselves.  I’m getting hot and bothered all over again, and you’re not even out of me yet!”

“Sorry, sorry!  I’m just really excited.  A little overeager, I guess?”  Sam shrugged his shoulders, knowing a faint blush rose to his cheeks.

Oddly, Dean lit up with an true, genuine smile and slowly ran a hand through Sam’s hair.  “It’s all good.  Another one’a the things I love about you.  You’re gonna make a great alpha.”

There was a skipped heartbeat, and Sam’s entire body was awash with that warm and fuzzy feeling.

“I promise.  I’ll be the best alpha you could imagine,” he swore with a fiery awareness, because Dean needed to know that he was making the right call.  Hell, the omega had already taken the chance, given himself over to Sam completely—allowing his heat in the first place.  And now wanting to take it a step further, to a place where Sam never had the balls to go, but it was something they both secretly craved?

Every move, every nuance, the joyful and soft affection on Dean’s face never left as he grinned and nodded.  He leaned close enough to kiss Sam’s forehead tenderly and whispered, “No doubt in my mind, mate.  There's never been a single doubt.  You're already an awesome alpha.”

It felt so empowering to have Dean’s confidence in him.  Especially, when Sam had been too shy to reach further than what they had, so long as he had Dean, he was happy.  Now they were changing, evolving, and he refused to disappoint.  
  
"I'm gonna be an even better alpha in another hour..." Sam was as playful as he was fixated, leaning in and returning Dean's, "I love you," bursting from his heart.   
  
Soon, Sam planned on making love to Dean until he collapsed, and he'd leave his mark when the omega was wrapped up and riding the tides of pleasure.  Sam had already mapped that moment out a million times in his head.  Sam already knew how to do it _right_.

The only part that remained a question mark was Dean mating him—Sam never thought he'd get the first part.

When Dean’s fond smile suddenly transformed into something devilish?  Sam knew the omega had laid out a strategy of his own, he'd created a personal mission, and Sam had no worries.  When Dean got stuck on a decision, there was nothing _anyone_ could do to stop him or stand in his way.

Based on that smirk?  As well as Sam’s replayed fantasies?  They’d be mated by the end of the night.

Oh—and they _were_.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Kink Bingo  
> Square Filled: A/B/O Dynamics
> 
> Written for SPN Fluff Bingo  
> Square Filled: A/B/O Dynamics


End file.
